Falling Back in Fields of Rape
by thanatophilia
Summary: dark knight style joker M-maaaadness. But really, it's all about love. Love a man enough for what he is and there are no secrets, even he would tell you that, Bats.


"Oh, oh, Batty-bats… oh the mayhem we make," the Joker is laughing. He reeks of something ancient, like Destruction.

Batman watches him with cruel hunter intent; Bruce Wayne feels a cracking kinship.

He inhales some of the concrete dust floating in the air, his mouth is gritty.

The Joker's madness moves through his body like spiders, he twitches in their wake, venom poisoning his mind.

Bruce Wayne knows that feeling, that crackling need he feels when he thinks about all the things he needs to improve in his workout, in his suit, in his business, in his identity.

He gets that same feeling inside, that laughter and that thrill.

Phantoms like Batman don't laugh.

They smile ghastly in their righteous fervor.

Batman does not worry about mayhem, he may know more about Wayne Industry's finances than even Bruce Wayne.

The black beast that never lets go, "I'm taking you in Joker."

And that sick human error he feels, Bruce a lonely child, Bruce an outcast man. Joker is the Batman's humanity, one or the other (man or Bat) reflects in the night.

He can never bear to kill him and thinks of taking him back to sweet Arkham like taking him home, putting him back where he belongs, where he can always find him.

Bruce's broken heart leaks muslin gray pus which taints his thoughts and his words and makes him feel distant from all humanity.

He understands this feeling though, this check on his movements. Nothing can be more important than the Batman.

And when the Joker goes a'razing, he is more important than breath.

* * *

_ahahahaaaaaahahaha_

* * *

Since the Joker's been in the next cell, Jonathan has fragmented his personality again. He is learning the ways of the demons of Baal.

Batman accepts his error in not expecting this and goes to rescue what is left of the Scarecrow.

The bad doctor flirts with him, promises to always love him, that they'll be freaks together, forever.

His dialect is off, they are not his words, but whether they were forced or borrowed is another question entirely.

"Oh, Batty," the Joker is laughing next door. "You see, I'm not the only one who likes to play with you."

Jonathan smiles, plucking at the Batman's cape. "Let me go and then come catch me, Batman," he's murmuring. "I'll get a new chemical ready and show you some nightmares."

"Wouldn't that just be a hoot?" the Joker antagonizes.

Bruce Wayne thinks it sounds like a date, and tries to shake off the shadowy tint the Batman has thrown over his eyes, his world.

"You're being transferred, Crane," Batman responds. "I'm overseeing it personally."

Jonathan's grin expands. The expression is from ear to ear, but thin and sharp. "Jealous?" he suggests softly. "Don't worry, he still prefers you far more than me. He's not my type besides."

"His words are crass," the Batman replies and pulls him off down the halls in a grip of righteous steel. "They don't flatter—"

"My pretty mouth?" the Scarecrow wonders, sneering and droll.

"Your intelligence," the Batman replies calmly. He's given Scarecrow a new padded cell with walls that will absorb the sound of the Joker's serpent voice and temptation.

* * *

_wh-ahahaha-y so sad, children?_

* * *

"Ring around the mulberry bush on a cold and frosty morning," the Joker laughs, trembling with excitement. The overhead sun reads noon and the typical city heat is unbearable, boiling off the concrete in the oil-slicks and filth and tar.

Joker's makeup is dripping nightmare smears along his scars.

Those parts of himself which love Joker begin to sting. Those sick and fragile pieces of his mind where shrapnel-pieces of bullet-and-pearl have fragmented and diseased him over the years.

"It destroys you," Alfred hisses when he hears these things. "Master, you must clean the wounds of the slag."

"Joker, you have been judged criminally insane and it is my duty, by law, to return you to the Arkham institution."

Joker contemplates the cemetery. Bruce Wayne wants to point to his parents' memorial and make the Joker look at it. He wants to expose his weaknesses.

Bruce's sickly sweetness is what makes him so fun, so exploitable.

Batman's twisted obsession with justice is what makes it a challenge.

"Lovely place we got here," the Joker chuckles, he prances over the heads of a few graves. Batman follows his movements warily, says nothing.

"Well kept, no teenage kids skipping class to smoke the old herb," Joker muses. "A private collection of well-dressed deadheads. Kill the gateman, poison the dogs, could rob the place blind in broad daylight."

"But what would be the challenge?" the Batman guesses.

Joker nods enthusiastically, but adds with viper-giggles, "I'm glad you have the esteem for me to understand that."

"You're insane, Joker," the Batman states.

Joker nods, gives his painted lips a dramatic smacking lick and then lunges. "Well, we're all a little crazy, Batman."

Bruce can see straight into his eyes as he comes, they're gleaming feverishly and Bruce feels as if the Joker can see right through him, straight into his soul.

* * *

_s-s-six s-s-stars of bedlam_

* * *

Harvey Dent inspires admiration in the Batman.

Two-Face inspires camaraderie with grieving Bruce Wayne.

The Joker hears it, the Batman's affection for all these freaks, reads it between the lines of every move he makes.

"Why don't I set you up on a couple of dates, Bats? I'm well connected in your demographic of sexual preference." Joker waggles his eyebrows at him smugly.

Batman feels the kinship then, knows that just like Joker the violence has taken over, the mission is always waiting. Sex is a messy human habit. Bruce Wayne thinks about Jezebels and husks.

"You know where sweet little Jonathan is," the Joker purrs, slinking in the shadows, taunting in echoes. "But Dent… you don't know that I just lent him a couple of crates of explosives and he's set to take out The Stacked Deck. You know how he is."

As Joker makes his exit known, he is satisfied the Batman will not give chase. No, Joker understands Batman's priorities. Acknowledged threat over possible.

He goes straight after Harvey who does not seem all together surprised that the Batman knows of his plans.

The Batman inspires admiration in Harvey, rivalry in Two-Face.

"Just try and stop me, Batman."

"Harvey Dent, you have been judged criminally insane and it is my duty, by law, to return you to the Arkham institution."

A battle cry of sorts, Two-Face shoots bullets of nickel and copper, the Bat takes to the air. They dance their fight, play their cards. Batman wins with a new trick. One plan, one tactic in a million. He thinks of them as he sleeps.

He's securing Harvey for the trip to Arkham when Joker comes gloating, something Batman should have expected him to do.

"Pretty kinky for a first date, Bats," he's laughing. "Not that you need me as your chaperon."

Harvey laughs grimly and then smiles at Bruce. "I think the Joker can see me home from here, Bats."

The Joker gets him with a new trick, a new deadly toy. He thinks of their blueprints while he sleeps. Dent as a distraction is all part of the plan.

Batman's enemies. Bruce's friends. Batman's kin. Bruce's lovers.

Two-Face disappears from his radar as the blackout comes. Joker waits, laughing, as he collapses to the floor.

* * *

_reaping time had/has come_

* * *

Joker knows him, knows him better than anyone else. The Batman's face is a passing curiosity, an amusing piece of information. He knows the feeling of Batman's coldest zealotry and he knows the saline scent of Bruce's age-old scar.

He touches the lines of the Batman's face with inquisitive hands, which tremble from psychosis and not anticipation. He is satisfied in his victory over his opponent, Bats won't fall for the trick again, but the Joker has his prize for now.

Which game to play first?

Physical, mental, biological torture, he tries each one with infinite care until it's a wonder the Batman is still sane at all.

"Inhuman," the Joker praises, not knowing that the Batman is an indelible presence, a psychic creation with endless mental strength.

Mind over matter, the eastern ones teach. Ra's lies sleeping, another soul mate in this madness, Bruce's shattered heart trembles with the desire of it.

The Joker breaks his fingers, dislocates his arms, grafts his skin, electrocutes and cuts.

Laughing and tempting the black knight to join the Lords of Chaos.

"Rules are made to be broken," Joker reminds him sweetly.

"I know," Bruce Wayne replies, dripping sweat and blood and pain.

Joker, who so completes him, smiles at his torment and goes back to his task with gleeful diligence. He's improvised a rack, thinking it time for something classic. He leans in close and whispers this to his friend.

"It will be such fun," he enthuses before comically pressing his tattered lips to Bruce Wayne's cold face.

Batman does not invite the Joker to do his worst. There are merits to trash talk, depending on the opponent. They would have no effect on the Joker.

He always does his very worst, like an artist and like a disciple.

The Batrman's torture is a ritual and the euphoria Bruce sees gleaming in the Joker's eyes is beautiful in its twisted purity.

* * *

_Wwhite cells and coffins; going Hhome_

* * *

He'd broken the Joker's nose. The Joker had hit him in the mouth, and his gums are bleeding. His teeth are stained with it and his mouth is pomegranate-dark with blood.

He inspects the Joker's face. His skin is stained with the makeup, but in some places Bruce can see the bruise where his jaw may or may not be fractured. Bruce touches the place gently, and then digs his fingers in a little until his companion's eyes flutter open.

"I've always noticed you have sick sexual tastes," Joker is laughing. "Taking me back to your toy box for a little ess-and-em."

"Because he has displayed beyond human levels of endurance, I am conducting a medical test on the Joker," the Batman replies.

Joker laughs brightly, amused. "Whatever helps you sleep at night." His voice says he already knows how little Bruce sleeps.

"First test, electrical conductivity."

Joker voice crescendos in laughing hysterics as he is fitted with electrodes, as Batman records every twitch and every half-stifled scream and every moan of ecstasy.

The Joker's right arm is dislocated on a machine like a steel computer-operated rack. He spits chuckles as the Batman methodically sets and bandages it.

"This is unethical," he goads.

Bruce meets his eyes and Joker sees the smiling expression in them, hears those grey eyes even over Batman's steady reply, "I have followed all scientific and medical measures of research."

Joker nods playfully and then makes a grab for Bruce's neck. Batman elbows him to the face, setting his nose off at a crooked angle. His medical kit already out, he mends this as well.

He covers his violence in stark white gauze.

* * *

**Standard Disclaimers. **Batbruce would never torture the Joker. But DC has always invited us into the Elseworlds.


End file.
